In the Absence of a Parent
by Lucinda M. H. Cheshir
Summary: A young Nimrod Godwin sets out from his home in London to complete the traditional rite of Taranushi, and goes on the journey of a lifetime. Meanwhile, his older sister, Layla Godwin, tries to cope with her new responsibilities as head of the Marid tribe. Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that appear in P.B. Kerr's series. Please read and review- danke schön!
1. Chapter 1

_Part One: The Taranushi_

It was April fifth, 1929, and Nimrod Godwin was only fourteen years old, and yet he was expected to find someone to grant three wishes to. Just last year, his older sister, Layla, had passed her_ taranushi_. All Nimrod had known about it was that she'd gone to Chicago (reputedly the unluckiest city in America) for a year and had come back to London with a mysterious glint in her eye. Nothing of which helped Nimrod at all.

Now it was Nimrod's turn to travel somewhere. He remembered that Layla hadn't told anyone where she was going- not even Nimrod had known. But that was beside the point. Nimrod had to decide where he was going to go.

Nimrod pulled out his big atlas from underneath his bed and opened it to his favourite page: the map of Egypt.

Egypt had its own page for purely one reason: Nimrod had created the atlas himself using his powers. The actual map was simply a larger image of the one he'd seen in his school atlas. The other pages in his special atlas were all of places that interested him, and among these were Egypt, India, Brazil, Peru, Morocco, and China.

Nimrod traced the length of the Nile River with his index finger, thinking that he might go to Giza to see the pyramids. After all, he had an entire year to find someone to grant three wishes to: why not see the sights in advance, and worry about this assignment later? Nimrod was a powerful djinn, if a youthful one, and he was quite sure he'd manage to find someone worthy of the honour.

"Are you ready yet, Nimrod?" called his sister, Layla, up the stairs. Hurriedly, Nimrod shut the atlas, shoved it into his half-packed suitcase, and shouted back.

"Nearly finished, Layla!" He lied. Racing around his room in a last-minute panic, Nimrod grabbed everything he might find useful, including the spyglass that his father had given to him before he'd vanished.

It was a rather unusual family arrangement that Layla and Nimrod had now; and a rather unheard of one as well. Their father, Mr. Kenneth Godwin, had also been a pure-blooded djinn, and had vanished under mysterious circumstances while the family was vacationing in Cairo. Since that trip, so many years ago, the siblings' mother, Ayesha Godwin, had been particularly careful in regards to the safety of her two djinn children, raising them in the quiet atmosphere of their house in London. However, as of last December, Ayesha had left to become the very important Blue Djinn of Babylon- the ultimate arbiter of all djinn matters, at least, those that were brought to her attention. She had told Nimrod and Layla to come and visit her in Berlin, where she would take up residence in the Villa Fledermaus, where the previous Blue Djinn had lived when not in her palace in Babylon. Nimrod was already referring to the place as 'Bat Mansion' in both his thoughts and his words. He and Layla knew that visiting Ayesha Godwin as she had become would not be visiting the sweet, kind, caring mother that they'd known all their lives. She would be replaced by a hard-hearted, indifferent, insensitive termagant that neither Nimrod nor his sister could ever learn to love, not even one bit. He was quite sure of that point.

Sighing as he recalled all of the tragedy that had been crammed into his (comparatively) short life, Nimrod finished throwing his clothes and other equipment into his brand-new red Harrods suitcase and struggled to lock it, or even to get it closed.

"Nimrod!" Layla shouted again, sounding more impatient than ever. Finally, and only by sitting on top of it, Nimrod managed to get the latches to click shut, and he quickly locked both of them, tucking the little key into the pocket of his trousers.

Almost dragging the suitcase behind him, Nimrod left his room, shutting the door behind him, and struggled down the stairs. At the bottom of the steps, Layla was waiting.

"Is the cab here?" Nimrod asked her, nearly tripping over the last step and sending the heavy suitcase toppling onto his head. Layla seemed confused.

"Didn't you say that you'd be leaving by whirlwind? I know you know how to make one."

Layla was what anyone would call beautiful. At almost 16 years old, she stood almost six feet tall, had lustrous chestnut hair that curled around her face in a most becoming way, and dark, dewy eyes that seemed to know everything. Every day, compliments would pour forth from everyone who spoke to her, and she didn't hide the fact that she loved the attention. On top of her looks, Layla had used quite a bit of djinn power to help make everything she touched successful. No one paid much attention to Nimrod, but he was always there. In the background, he often thought. He didn't resent Layla for this, though. It wasn't really her fault that she was beautiful and captivating, and he... well, wasn't. Nimrod disliked talking to anyone but his elder sister at the best of times, and, added to the fact that he looked quite unremarkable, this made Nimrod the more shy and retiring of the two. In any case, the only other people (besides Layla, of course,) he would willingly speak to were other djinn. In the schoolyard, his mates were all djinn, and outside of school, he tended not to speak with anyone. Mostly, Nimrod reserved his thoughts to himself, which, for him, was a blessing; if he did speak his mind more often, he would have had his teeth knocked out several times by now for all the snarky insults, snide comments, and prideful thoughts that floated about in his head. For someone who was merely fourteen, Nimrod had pride enough for ten people.

"Oh, yes. I did, didn't I?" Nimrod said finally, remembering that he had, indeed told Layla that he'd be leaving for wherever his taranushi took him by whirlwind. "Could you help me get this up to the roof? It's quite heavy for one person to carry, even if I am a djinn."

Layla smiled her stunning, perfect smile, and picked up one end of Nimrod's suitcase, while he took the other. A few minutes later, they were in the attic of the house, and Nimrod was preparing to leave through the skylight and go out into the sooty London air.

"Goodbye Nimrod!" Layla said cheerily once her brother had successfully climbed through the skylight, utilizing an old table as a step. "Good luck!"

"Thanks, Layla." Nimrod smiled, and gathered his willpower. "QWERTYUIOP!" Soot that had settled on the nearby rooftops was stirred up and joined the funnel of warm air that Nimrod had created, and he rose into the air, higher and higher until his own house became indistinguishable from the rows and rows of identical houses.

Nimrod flew straight up until he deemed that he'd gone high enough to avoid the shocked stares of those who were on the street. Plunging his hand into his trouser pocket, Nimrod drew out his heavy gold-plated compass and tried to figure out which direction he ought to go if he was to head to Giza. Finally, he determined which way was Southeast, and steered his whirling funnel of sooty air in that direction. Smiling at his own cleverness, Nimrod sighed happily, and threw his weight back into his whirlwind, relishing the feeling of being seated on the softest cushion imaginable. Even the soot and ash that he'd picked up from the rooftops couldn't bother him, not that the London fog ever bothered djinn in any case. Feeling a lot more contented than he had in a long time, Nimrod spoke his focus word again, causing a large cigar to appear in one hand, and a gold-plated lighter to appear in the other.

"Freedom," Nimrod said to himself as he lit the cigar carefully, "is a truly remarkable thing. Too bad the schoolmasters have never heard of it." He laughed, a little bit cruelly to be sure, and began to smoke in earnest.

Somewhere over Italy, Nimrod began to grow sleepy. He thought that perhaps it was the altitude, but he soon dismissed that notion, thinking to himself that surely a djinn, such as himself, would not be affected by mere heights. This was utter nonsense, of course, since djinn are affected by altitude just as much as the mundanes are, unless the djinn happens to be in his or her bottle or lamp, which Nimrod certainly wasn't. A minute or two later, Nimrod's eyelids drooped, closed, and finally, he fell asleep with the cigar still smoldering away in his right hand.


	2. Chapter 2

Layla watched her brother fade out of sight into the dirty London sky and sighed. She, more than anyone else, knew that Nimrod probably wasn't going to take this responsibility seriously, or if he was, he wouldn't consider the possible implications of failure until the very last second. Quietly, she shut the skylight, climbed down from the old table, and headed for the attic door. Somewhere downstairs, the house telephone rang. The two, little, brazen bells that were affixed to the face of the ancient, monstrously large machine in the front hall were loud enough that Layla could hear them from anywhere in the house, even up in the garret, where normally no one but the servants went. This was the reason that Ayesha Godwin had never replaced the outdated wall telephone with the newer, smaller dial telephone: it simply wasn't practical. Layla, who hated the old machine, intended to dispose of it the first opportunity she had.

The ringing of the telephone ceased when someone- most likely the butler, Alden Pritchard,- picked up the receiver to answer the call. Layla was certain that this person was the butler when the man called up the stairs to her with his heavy Yorkshire accent.

"Telephone call, Miss! Long distance! From Egypt!" Another pause, and Mr. Pritchard shouted again. "A Hector Fletcher, calling about a djinn matter!"

Mr. Pritchard was one of the few who knew the true identities of Layla and Nimrod Godwin, and that they were actually quite powerful djinn. Layla was unused to being in charge of such important things as djinn matters. She missed her mother more than ever now. Last year, if someone had called with something regarding the djinn, Ayesha would have been the one to speak on the telephone, sometimes for hours. It felt strange and not at all agreeable for Layla to be forced to play that role now. She felt like a small child playing pretend when she answered the butler.

"I'm coming, tell them to hold on for a moment!" she called down the stairs, and began to take the steps two at a time, until she'd stumbled down the three flights of steps and into the front hall, where Pritchard silently offered her the telephone earpiece. "Hello?" she said into the strangely-shaped apparatus used for speaking to the caller. "This is Layla Godwin. What is it you called me about?"

"Yes, hello Miss Godwin. I am Hector Fletcher, calling about my daughter Alexandra. She's just turned fourteen and her dragon teeth have been extracted." Hector Fletcher's voice was reedy, and crackling static made it difficult for Layla to understand what it was he was saying. Even after she deciphered his speech, Layla was a little nonplussed.

"I'm sorry, but why did you call me again?" She asked, as politely as she could. After all, Mr. Fletcher was very likely several decades her elder.

He sighed heavily, a noise that sounded a bit funny with staticky overtones. "The Tammuz, Miss Godwin. Either you must come here to Egypt yourself, or you may delegate another djinn to do so."

Layla's cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. "Oh, y-yes, of course!" She stammered, feeling a little flustered. "I'll come down immediately. By whirlwind. Now, where in Egypt are you?"

"We're in Giza. I'v an archaeologist, you see. My boy, Magnus, ought to be able to help you when you arrive, as I'll likely be far too busy." Hector Fletcher paused, and Layla held her breath, wondering what he was going to say. "And, er, thank you, Miss Godwin. For taking the trouble."

Layla's cheeks turned even pinker from the expression of gratitude, and let out her breath. "Oh, it's no trouble at all. I still have to get used to being head of the Marid, so thank you, Mr. Fletcher."  
Mr. Fletcher gave a curt little laugh, said farewell, and hung up his telephone. After a moment, Layla hung the earpiece on its hook and stepped away from her telephone. Then, still feeling a little addled, she gave Mr. Pritchard the usual orders: the ones that she'd heard her mother give the butler many times before, but Layla had never had occasion to give them. "Very well, Mr. Pritchard. Take care of the house, keep the attic well aired, and be sure to keep the scullery maids from putting on airs while I'm gone. I shall return later."  
That was what Ayesha had always said: 'I shall return later.' Layla had yet to visit her mother at the Villa Fledermaus in Berlin, but she was not looking forward to it. Nimrod called the place 'Bat Mansion,' and Layla was almost inclined to do the same, but one thing stopped her, and that was the memory of the wonderful mother that had left them just last December. Then, when she left, there was no 'I shall return later,' merely 'farewell.' Layla shivered as she mounted the steps to the third floor and her bedroom. The woman who had left them in December hadn't seemed at all like the real Ayesha Godwin at all. It had been as though her mother had been replaced by an alien.  
Layla paused on the second floor landing, tiptoed around the banister and eased Nimrod's bedroom door open, just a crack to see how he'd left his room. She smiled as she saw the usual mess of possessions scattered about his floor, his desk a jumble of paper, pens and pencils, the bright red sheets on his bed rumpled. At least Nimrod wasn't about to radically change any time soon. She figured that he'd always be the untidy, confident, tiny bit inconsiderate brother he was until the day he died. Layla shut the door again and continued on her way up the stairs to her own room to pack a few things before she left for Giza.  
Layla's room was much neater than that of her brother's. Her books were not stacked on top of one another in little piles on the floor, but rested tidily on a row of bookshelves that was pushed against the far wall. Her canopy bed was made, her expensive cherry wood desk organised quite precisely. Layla never had any problem finding anything in her room, and she reached under her bed to pull out her own brown leather Hermes suitcase. In the span of just a couple minutes, Layla had packed everything she needed. She decided, quite reasonably, that if she needed anything other than some fashionable and practical clothes, a pair of comfortable shoes, some sunglasses, her favourite book, and her silver travel lamp, then she could just as easily create it with djinn power.  
Layla shut her suitcase, picked it up quite easily, and headed once again for the attic. Once there, she echoed Nimrod's earlier movements, clambering onto the rickety old table, easing open the skylight, and pulling first herself, then her suitcase out of the aperture. "NEPHELOKOKKGYIA!" Underneath her feet, a whirlwind sprang up, many times more powerful than her younger brother's had been, an it lifted her into the air, making a beeline for Giza. She didn't even notice when she passed Nimrod up near Sicily.  
All she was thinking about was how she had not been ready to accept such a huge responsibility as being the head of the Marid. She wasn't yet sixteen, and already she felt ancient, decrepit, elderly. She knew that she'd have to visit Ayesha sometime in the next year, but Layla hoped that she'd be able to go with Nimrod by her side: she wasn't terribly keen on the idea of being alone with the Blue Djinn. There was no telling what would happen, and Layla would feel nervous enough as it was even if Nimrod was there.  
Spurred on by these thoughts, Layla sped up her whirlwind until it was going at a breakneck pace. Sooner than she expected, the pyramids loomed up in front of her, unexpectedly close. Layla quickly recalculated her height and shot up. Eventually, she saw a group of green tents, above which flew a Union Jack, fluttering in the breeze given off by Layla's whirlwind. Hoping vaguely that no one had seen her, she touched down a few yards away from the encampment and dusted herself off. She was nervous, as this was the first time she'd ever given a Tammuz speech. She was convinced, however, that this first time was needed for Layla's own benefit, as well as that of this girl, Alexandra.


	3. Chapter 3

When Nimrod woke up, he felt a bit disoriented, because he couldn't recognize where he was at first. All he saw was that his whirlwind had let him down to rest on the face of a large sand dune, his red suitcase lying close to his left hand. In his right hand, he held the very end of his cigar, which was now little more than a fading ember. Yawning, Nimrod ground the cigar into the sand beside him until it went out completely, then sat up, blinking sand out of his eyes.

"Oi! What are you doing here?" Nimrod scrambled to his feet and turned this way and that, trying to see who it was who had spoken. Nimrod couldn't see anyone, though, so he picked up his suitcase and climbed to the crest of the sand dune to have a better look around. It was slow going, what with the sand constantly slipping out from underneath his feet, but he soon reached the top. There were the great pyramids, gleaming in the setting sun, and directly below Nimrod, right by his dune, were two dark figures that he had not seen before: a boy and a girl, both close to his age.

"I said, what are you doing out here? Yes, you, boy in the red jacket!" Evidently, the shouting boy with a hint of a cockney accent was talking to Nimrod.

"I could ask the same of you two!" Nimrod retorted, sliding down the sand dune with as much poise and panache as he could manage. "_I_ was flying over the pyramids in my aeroplane and was forced to parachute out when the engine caught on fire. Unfortunately my parachute also caught on fire, and turned to ashes before I reached the ground. I only just now recovered from the impact with that sand dune. Now that you know what I was doing, what about _you_?"

The boy, who was as dark as any Indian, shrugged as though it was of little consequence. "Our father is working in the pyramids. We're just waiting for him to finish so we can go home." He squinted suspiciously at Nimrod. "Who did you say was piloting your wrecked aeroplane, again?"

Nimrod shrugged smoothly. "Why, I was, of course. It might seem strange to you, but I'm actually quite the expert on aeroplanes. Who are you two?"

The boy, who Nimrod decided must be at least a year older than he was, still did not seem satisfied by Nimrod's explanation. "I didn't see any aeroplane crash just now..." he began, but Nimrod shrugged it off.

"Oh, it must have crashed a good long while ago. I only just woke up, as I said before. I'm Nimrod, by the way. Nimrod Godwin. Who are you two?"

The boy still seemed suspicious, but he was interrupted from saying anything more by his little sister.

"I'm Alexandra Fletcher, and this is my brother Magnus. Did you say Godwin, as in Ayesha Godwin?"

Warily, Nimrod nodded. "Ayesha is my mother." He said carefully. Alexandra turned to her elder brother.

"Magnus, does that mean-" But Magnus shook his head.

"No, Alexandra, it doesn't. We came here to meet Layla Godwin, and now you've got to perform your _Tammuz_. Nimrod, if you'll come along with me, my younger sister must be fasting, and I'd rather if you'd come into camp with me, and we can have a talk. You do know about the Tammuz, don't you?"

Nimrod felt insulted. "Of course I do, you nitwit!" He snarled at Magnus, scowling mightily. "I had mine two years ago!"

Nimrod's eyes fell on an all-too-familiar silver lamp that Alexandra clutched in her hands. He leaned over to whisper to Magnus without Alexandra hearing. "Are you saying that you've met my sister? And if so, does that mean that the lamp is hers?" Magnus ground his heel into the toe of Nimrod's left shoe, causing Nimrod to yelp with pain and jump back reproachfully.

"Not another word. Alexandra, I'll come back at dawn. Nimrod, please come with me." Magnus took Nimrod by the elbow and led him away, heading towards a group of distant green tents.

Satisfied that these new acquaintances of his were, in point of fact, djinn, Nimrod allowed himself to be hustled away by the dark-faced Magnus Fletcher without much objection.

"Quit acting like a ninny!" Magnus hissed to Nimrod, and Nimrod frowned. "So, are you going to tell me why you're actually here? Or are you going to stick to your ridiculous aeroplane story?"

Nimrod's shock was visible in his face, and, for a moment, he couldn't think of anything to say. Nimrod had often come up with elaborate excuses to explain to his schoolmasters why he hadn't done his homework (this is not to say that Nimrod was stupid or incapable of doing it: it was because Nimrod was simply too bored to bring himself to do it) and this was the first time anyone had ever called him out on one of his lies. True, none of his previous 'stories' were quite as absurd as the idea of Nimrod piloting an aeroplane over the desert and crash landing, but it was still enough of an oddball occurrence that it took Nimrod a while to come up with a suitable response.

In the end, it was Magnus who guessed at the truth. "Never had someone know you were lying, then? I have to say, you were pretty good at it. Now, if I had to guess, I'd say that you were on your _Taranushi_. Am I right?"

Numbly, Nimrod nodded, and Magnus grinned, his dark lips parting to reveal startlingly white teeth.

"I knew it! Anyway, you can stay here for as long as you need to- and don't get any ideas about granting me any wishes. I don't need them."

Nimrod frowned again. "Well, it looks as though I have to leave now. I don't care if you don't want me to grant you wishes, but my sister's here now, as well. I'll go somewhere else."

Magnus laughed loudly, almost doubling over with mirth. Nimrod's eyes widened slightly as Magnus continued to laugh even after several minutes had passed.

"...Are you quite all right?" Nimrod asked finally, his eyebrows raised warily, and feeling more disturbed than concerned by Magnus' odd behaviour.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just... when I was on my _Taranushi_, I wanted so badly to get it over with. I was scared that I'd lose my powers for a year, but I really don't deal well with pressure. Neither do you, from the looks of it."

Nimrod bristled. He was liking Magnus less and less with each passing moment, but there was still something about the boy that made Nimrod want to impress him. "Are you implying that you don't think I can manage myself?" he asked Magnus testily. Magnus shook his head.

"I'm not saying that at all, Nimrod. You're probably a very capable djinn. What I'm saying is that some people don't deal well with pressure, and that I'm one of those people." Magnus explained, suddenly serious.

"So why did you have to go and drag me into it?" Nimrod asked, still feeling a little stung.

Magnus shrugged. "You kind of remind me of me. That's all." He said simply, and for the rest of the walk to the tents, Nimrod remained in a seething silence, and Magnus had the good sense to remain quiet as well. Finally, they reached the encampment, and Nimrod spoke up.

"So, your father is an Egyptologist?" It was just small talk, but Magnus seemed pleased that Nimrod was taking an interest in something.

"Yes, he is. Dad's been working in Giza for years. Ever since I was a kid, in fact." Magnus confided, grinning again.

"Is he mundane?" Nimrod asked tiredly. He had little patience for anyone with such a bubbly personality as Magnus did. Nimrod hadn't thought that it was possible for a boy- a boy who was a couple years older than Nimrod himself- to be so tiring, but after Magnus had gotten past the initial suspicion, he'd proven Nimrod wrong.

Even the way he shook his head was overly energetic. "Nope. Dad's like us- a djinn. He says that if he were a mundane, we'd probably all be back in London, with Mum. The only reason that Alexandra and I are here at all is because we're on holiday."

Nimrod was a bit confused. "On holiday?" He asked blankly. He knew that his own school had also given a holiday, but he couldn't quite remember the reason why.

Magnus snorted loudly. "For Easter, you dingbat!" he laughed, and Nimrod felt his face go as red as his jacket. In all of his excitement surrounding his taranushi, Nimrod had quite forgotten that Easter had already come and gone. Both he and Layla had been far too distracted to pay much attention to the holiday, indeed, the only recognition Layla had given was to allow the servants to take the preceding week off, as well as Easter Sunday itself.

"I knew that," Nimrod lied fiercely, attempting to hide his humiliation by ducking his head low. Magnus saw, and charitably attempted to stop laughing. He was only partially successful in his attempt, however, and smothered chuckles still came through.

"Come..."*_splutter_* "...along, Nimrod. If we hurry, we'll be able to get some supper."


	4. Chapter 4

Layla stretched her arms out in front of her and sat back in her big armchair, throwing her book aside. She was waiting in her lamp, waiting to be summoned. As the time ticked slowly on, she began to grow twitchy and nervous. She was afraid that Alexandra might not summon her, despite what Magnus had said about giving the lamp a polish. Doubts began to sneak into her head: what if she forgot what she was supposed to say? What if she bungled the whole thing?

She didn't have much more time to worry, because the very next instant, a loud squeaking sounded. It seemed as though it was coming from one of the huge walls of the inside of the lamp, and it took Layla a second to realize what it must be: It was Alexandra, rubbing the lamp.

Taking a deep breath, and snatching up her lit oil lamp, Layla began her reverse transubstantiation, and sailed out of her silver travel lamp as white smoke. Right before she rematerialized, she heard a muffled shriek, and guessed that it must be Alexandra, who she still hadn't met.

Finally, she felt her molecules gathering together, and went from white smoke to her usual form.

"Oof!" Layla said, as she'd miscalculated the distance between her feet and the ground, and landed wonkily, an ominous cracking sound coming from her ankle. She winced and glanced at the dark-faced, dark haired girl who could only be Alexandra. "Hello," Layla said, smiling awkwardly and massaging her sore ankle.

All Alexandra did was stare blankly, until Layla felt obliged to introduce herself. "I'm Layla Godwin, and you must be Alexandra Fletcher!"

Now Alexandra seemed more surprised than frightened. "You're Layla? But you're so much younger than I expected!"

Layla smiled more broadly. "Yes, well, I'm not entirely sure how it was that I was chosen to be the next head of the Marid, but here I am!"

Alexandra laughed in apparent relief, and sat down on the cot that she'd brought with her.

Layla raised an eyebrow at the other girl. "Did you really think that your brother would leave you out here on your own?" She asked, then sighed. "Perhaps you did, at that. In any case, I have a job to do. Now, er... the important thing for your Tammuz is that you've felt abandoned in the desert. You know the story behind the Tammuz, don't you?"

"Yes, of course I do. Dad told me just a couple days ago." Alexandra nodded.

"Good, good. Ah... Oh, dear. What am I supposed to tell you next...?" Layla muttered to herself distractedly.

"So, why did Magnus give me a dictionary?" Alexandra asked. "Somehow, I doubt it actually was for me to play word games with."

Finally, Layla remembered the speech that she'd prepared just moments before in her lamp. "Oh! That's right, I remember now! I'm supposed to tell you how the djinn came to be."

Alexandra quirked up an eyebrow. "Sounds... interesting. All right, so tell me."

Layla cleared her throat theatrically. "As you probably know already, there are three kinds of intelligent beings in this world. There are the angels, made of light, the mundanes, made of earth, and the djinn, made of a subtle kind of fire. The reason that we're out here tonight is because we are both djinn. Mundanes were given dominion over the Earth, angels over the heavens, and us djinn were given dominion over luck, the interaction between Heaven and Earth. Now, a long long time ago, when the first angels, djinn, and mundanes walked the Earth, there were two primary forces ruling the world: these were Good and Evil. Eventually, all of these beings were forced to make a great choice, a choice between Good and Evil." Layla paused for effect. Alexandra seemed much more interested.

"And so? What happened after that?" she asked curiously. Layla smiled again and went on.

"Most of the angels chose good, and those who didn't... we'll save them for a later discussion. By contrast, more than a few of the mundanes chose evil, though it's doubtful that we can ever be sure of the exact number, what with there being so many in comparison to the angels, and for that matter, the djinn as well. Now, as you know there are six tribes of djinn. Three of these tribes, the Ifrit, the Ghul, and the Shaitan, chose the side of Evil, and the other three, the Jinn, the Jann, and our own tribe, the Marid, chose Good. At that point, every djinn had chosen except for one: a djinn by the name of Ishtar, who became the first Blue Djinn, and existed beyond Good and Evil."

Alexandra nodded. "Yes, this is starting to sound familiar. Isn't your mother the current Blue Djinn?"

Layla's calm smile vanished, but, verbally at least, she neither confirmed nor denied this fact. "Now then, you've asked me why you were given the dictionary. Every djinn has their own word of power, and we call this a focus word. That's what the dictionary is for: so you can pick out your focus word."

Alexandra picked the dictionary up and skimmed through a few pages. "What kind of a word ought I to be looking for?" she asked vaguely.

"A long one." Layla told her decidedly. "Now, would you mind if I made us a bit more comfortable? It's awfully cold out here, and I'd like a good tent and cot for myself."

Alexandra looked up. "You're going to use djinn power?" she asked interestedly, and Layla nodded.

"It's not at all difficult when you've got the hang of it," she assured the other girl. "NEPHELOKOKKYGIA!" Alexandra blinked, and nothing happened, but when she blinked again, she was inside a green tent similar to those in the encampment a few hundred yards away.

"Wow," she said in huge admiration. "You really made all of this out of thin air?"

"Something like that, yes." Layla said as she sat down on the edge of the blue cushioned cot she'd created, put the lamp down on the carpet-covered ground, and began to untie the laces on her pinchy leather shoes.

"So your focus word is... what is it again?"

"NEPHELOKOKKYGIA," Layla repeated calmly. "It's from a Greek play- the name of a perfect city that was built between the clouds. It's translated as Cloud-Cuckoo-Land."

"What about your brother? What's his focus word?" Alexandra pressed.

"Oh, did you meet my brother? I thought I heard his voice outside my lamp. Anyway, Nimrod's is QWERTYUIOP, the top ten letters on a typewriter keyboard."

"Those are both great focus words," Alexandra observed gloomily. "Mine probably won't be half as good as those."

Layla smiled yet again. She liked Alexandra, and felt almost as if they had known each other for years, even though they had only just met. "Oh, I'm sure you'll come up with something." She smiled.

Alexandra nodded enthusiastically, and set back to her given task, picking up a tablet and a pen to jot down possibilities, squinting in the dim light afforded by the lamp's current position.

"Good night, Alexandra." Layla called over, and thought to give her the lamp. "I'd suggest that you try to get some sleep before dawn."

"Why?" Alexandra asked, accepting the oil lamp and continuing to pore over the dictionary.

"It's part of the initiation, and you'll want to be well-rested. Seven full hours of sleep." Layla closed her eyes and endeavored to relax.

"Oh," Alexandra replied, pausing in her skimming to look at Layla.

A moment or two later, Layla drifted off to sleep, but Alexandra continued searching for a suitable focus word well into the night.

Finally, as she was going back through one last time, she espied something interesting in the "I" section. Pausing, she read the rather long and twisty word, examined its definition, and finally said it aloud to herself. The first time, she stumbled a little bit, but the second time the flow of the word was smoother. A third time, and her pronunciation was faultless. Alexandra smiled broadly. She had found her focus word.

Still grinning, Alexandra shut the dictionary and threw it to the tarpaulin-covered ground, (after writing down the correct spelling of the word, of course,) where it landed with a soft thump! and set the still burning silver oil lamp on the folding table that stood, unstably, in between the two cots.

Suddenly tired, perhaps from all of the excitement, Alexandra bent over to untie her shoes, managed to get one of them completely off of her foot before exhaustion overtook her, and she fell asleep in that position, bent double, arms dangling uselessly over her sharply-angled knees, dark hair tumbling untidily down, obscuring her face and almost reaching the floor, and she dreamt of what she would do when she mastered the powers that dwelled within her young mind.


	5. Chapter 5

Nimrod picked at the food on his plate with obvious distaste. Magnus, Dr. Fletcher, and several other archaeologists, some with their wives, pretended not to notice as the tension continued to rise in the main tent.

"Well," Dr. Fletcher said finally, setting down his fork and knife and turning to Nimrod. "Magnus has led me to believe that you're the son of Ayesha and Kenny Godwin."

"That's true," Nimrod said cautiously his head still bent down, unwilling to let on that he was a djinn when he still had no idea if everyone at the table were also djinn, or at the very least, knew that Dr. Fletcher and his children were djinn.

Dr. Fletcher nodded, seeming quite nostalgic. "I know that your mother has gone into international justice," The very fact that Dr. Fletcher didn't mention that Ayesha was now the Blue Djinn led Nimrod to believe that some people at the table did not, in fact, know of the djinn. "But whatever happened to your father? I haven't heard from him in a dog's age!"

Now Nimrod leveled his gaze to look Dr. Fletcher in the eye. "My father vanished about ten years ago," Nimrod said coldly.

Dr. Fletcher was immediately sheepish. "Oh," he said. "That would explain why your sister answered the telephone."

Nimrod didn't reply to that, but suffered to take another bite of food.

"In any case," Magnus said, clearing his throat loudly, as if to assert his presence, "Nimrod, tell them how you ended up alone in the desert in the first place." Magnus turned to the rest of the company, once again grinning like an idiot. "It's amazing!" he assured them.

Throwing a nasty look Magnus' way, (which Magnus pretended not to notice) Nimrod launched into his somewhat ridiculous story of crashing his aeroplane on a nearby dune.

"That's strange," said Dr. Baker, one of the younger Egyptologists, and a fierce Englishman, "I didn't see any such aeroplane crash-land nearby recently,"

_Implying that there had been aeroplane crashes nearby in the past,_ Nimrod thought disdainfully. "Perhaps you were looking the other way when the flaming wreckage crashed into the sand," he said aloud, just as disdainfully.

Dr. Baker looked hurt, too hurt to continue on arguing, but he didn't need to, because another one of the Egyptologists spoke up.

"Doctor Baker is correct," this time, Dr. Jones, a much older man, was challenging Nimrod's story. "None of us saw an aeroplane crashing in the desert, nor any human body floating down attached to an open parachute."

"Well I didn't exactly float down," retorted Nimrod, annoyed. "most of the way I was free-falling, and it was only when I was about eighty feet up that I got my parachute to open up. It had gotten stuck, you see."

"Nevertheless," Dr. Jones continued, "I doubt that there is any actual plane wreckage out there in the desert, as you claim there is."

"Well, there is!" Nimrod insisted. "I could show you right now, if you'd like." Nimrod's tone of voice was so challenging, Dr. Fletcher felt obliged to intervene.

"Yes, yes, Nimrod. No one doubts that there is indeed wreckage of your aeroplane out there."

"I do," chorused several of the assembled company, including Drs. Jones and Baker. Dr. Fletcher ignored them.

"I'm sure that it will be there tomorrow morning. Will it not, Nimrod?"

Nimrod nodded, noting that Dr. Fletcher's words seemed to have a double meaning. He highly suspected that it had something to do with the fact that Dr. Fletcher's daughter was out in the desert, having her djinn initiation. Vaguely, Nimrod wondered if his sister had popped out of her lamp yet. "Oh, the wreckage will still be there. If it doesn't sink into the sand."

The remainder of the meal was spent in the same tense silence as it had begun with, until finally, Dr. Fletcher announced that he was finished, and rose from the table.

Magnus and Nimrod quickly followed suit, and Magnus led Nimrod towards a much smaller green tent, evidently the tent occupied by the three Fletchers was proven further by the presence of two cots and an empty corner. Dr. Fletcher flicked his hand in the direction of the empty corner, muttering his focus word as he did so. A moment later, a cot, the exact shade of green as the tent walls, appeared from out of thin air.

"Make yourself comfortable, Nimrod," Dr. Fletcher said absent-mindedly, turning to a foldable desk heaped with papers and a few scattered Egyptian artifacts. Carefully, Nimrod set his suitcase on the cot and looked over at Magnus. Magnus had already lain down on his own cot, looking so comfortable that Nimrod suspected him of years of practise, and had taken out a thin volume, which he was reading with apparent interest.

Nimrod tilted his head to read the title: Sherlock Holmes: A Study in Scarlet. Magnus seemed to be nearly finished with the book, for another moment later, he turned the page, then shut the little volume to look up at Nimrod, who was still staring curiously.

"I always read these books whenever I visit father," Magnus explained quietly, respectful of Dr. Fletcher, who had, by now, sat down in front of the foldable desk and was muttering to himself.

"Don't they get boring after a while?" Nimrod asked. He'd only read the entire Sherlock Holmes series once, and while he'd enjoyed it moderately, he knew that he wouldn't go back and reread them over and over, as Magnus apparently had. Magnus shrugged.

"I guess. But I don't have much else to read, do I?" Magnus seemed nonchalant, but his true feelings showed through when, after a pause, he asked, "You don't happen to have any other books, do you?"

Nimrod shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. I packed in a bit of a hurry."

"It couldn't hurt to look, could it?" Magnus encouraged eagerly. Nimrod sighed and opened his suitcase, the lid of which flew up so quickly that it almost hit Nimrod on the nose. Right on top was Nimrod's copy of Treasure Island, looking old and worn: it had belonged to Nimrod's father before him, and had evidently been well-loved. Nimrod himself had only read the book once, seeing no point in reading it a second time, but the reason he kept it was to have something of his father's to hold on to. Just in case he ever did come back.

"Here you are," Nimrod said, tossing the book over to Magnus, who caught it easily, and immediately began to read.

"Thanks," he said, and for the rest of the evening, Nimrod felt more ignored than he had in all of his young djinn life. He was also quite a bit more bored than he'd ever felt before, as well.

Finally, with a great, exaggerated sigh that went completely ignored by the two Fletchers, Nimrod dragged out his big atlas and tried to think where else he could go that was of interest to him. Nimrod supposed that he could always just go to Cairo, but that seemed awfully close, and in any case, he'd already seen what he had come to Egypt to see. New York City was also a possibility, but Nimrod didn't want to seem that he was copying his sister by going to the United States.

After much dithering, Nimrod decided that he could go to Cairo, after all. He hated even the idea of being thought of as a copycat, and resolved to figure out how he could pull off staying in Egypt without Layla figuring it out. The first step, he decided, would be to tell Magnus that he was headed back to England, to throw off suspicion. Then, there would be the matter of a wardrobe change, and possibly a remodeling of his nationality.

Nimrod decided that if he was to remain in Egypt, then he would have to become an Egyptian himself.


End file.
